Blood Lust
by Fallen Warrior Angel
Summary: UPDATE! I have changed this around a bit, used to be just a one shot but I have decided to continue this further, read for more info! Hannibal X OC
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is a one shot that I have devised. I am debating on whether or not to create an entire story to fit this into, so reviews and opinions are much appreciated. I do not own any of the rights to the television series _Hannibal_ , I only own the rights to my created character. Please enjoy, bon appetit!**

It seemed as if the world was flying by at an incomparable pace as she sat in the passenger's seat of the luxurious Bentley, her eyes fixated out her window and not on the man behind the wheel. The dark sky causing all of the lights from cars and buildings to look like artificial stars, for no other light existed, at least not currently. The two doctors had not exchanged words since the university benefit, the tension ever growing between the two. Why had he become so stoic? Why did he have so many secrets? Her brow furrowed in frustration as she let out a defeated sigh.

"Where were you the other night?" her voice was soft, barely audible over the classical music now lulling through the air.

She looked at him finally, his chiseled features shadowed by the evening darkness.

"Do I get an answer? Or are you going to continue to ignore me?"

The impatience in her voice made the corners of his lips curl in a slight form of distaste. She knew he found her agitation "rude". Yet that angered her further, HE was being rude. The ever courteous Dr. Hannibal Lecter was being a run of the mill, typically rude man. After another few long moments of silence he let out a sigh, not removing his eyes from the road, "You know where I was, do we have to continue playing this game?"

Her scoff of annoyance awoke the fire of attentiveness in him that she was ever so fond of, "And what game, Hannibal, do you propose we are playing? We may be alike but that does not mean I follow you everywhere you run."

He closed his eyes at the soft accent beneath her liquid voice. Her voice reminded him of home, the rippling streams that ran past his family's castle in Lithuania. She reminded him of his sister, almost too much to make their acquaintance difficult to bear, and yet she was different enough, American enough, for him to discern the two.

"No," he stated simply as he pulled into the long, gravel driveway beside his home, putting the car in park before finally turning to look at her, "It is my job to follow you where you run."

Any normal woman would have fled his presence by now, but not her. No, Dr. Mischelle Laima, practitioner and educator of criminal psychology, was not afraid. She was altogether intrigued by the man who was sired from the same motherland as her. The man who's tragic tale had made her heart ache nights prior. A man who made her feel like she was not alone in the world. The two made their way into his home, the dark woodwork and lavish furnishings were expected from him. She smiled softly to herself as she followed him into the kitchen, her cerulean gaze marking his every step. The clink of the crystal wine glasses, the squeak of the wine key as it twirled into the cork. The pop as it was expertly removed from the incredibly aged bottle. Her eyes fluttered slightly as the intoxicating aroma of the vintage wine wafted toward her, inhaling slowly.

"Chateau Latour Bordeaux 1941...Hannibal you spoil me," she smirked, watching the smile curl upon his lips as he poured the dark liquid into the two glasses.

"This is one of the few bottles of my parent's private collection that I was able to acquire, I see only fit to share it with someone just as worthy to enjoy it," he remarked, slowly approaching her with one arm extended, the glass in his hand. His eyes were gleaming, their garnet hue made her breath catch in her throat as she took the glass from him, like a lion stalking its prey.

"I smell cherry...anisette...a floral hint of sorts," she closed her eyes and inhaled again, allowing the wine to cloud her senses, "lavender...and orange peel."

He beamed at her sense of smell, "Quite right you are my dear," he took a long whiff of his own glass before tilting it towards her slightly, "to what should we toast?"

It was her turn to have that predatory gleam as she tapped her glass to his, "To not being alone in the world, and finding someone to enjoy all its pleasures with."

Hannibal met her gaze intently, sipping from his glass before taking her hand and leading her into the sitting room. They sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying their wine and the small fire he had started, the golden glow licking her porcelain skin. His fingers danced on her arm, feeling how smooth she was, wondering all the while how he had gotten to be so lucky to finally find someone with whom he could be himself. Mischelle turned her gaze toward him, a chill of delight running down her spine as his fingertips ghosted across her collarbone, the black, glittering, backless cocktail dress that adorned her figure suddenly felt constricting.

"Hannibal, I-"

 _Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep._

The impertinent ringtone of Hannibal's mobile phone interrupted her, and she glared angrily at the electronic device he removed from his pocket.

"Jack, what is it?"

Hannibal spoke into the phone, giving Mischelle a beseeching glance as he stood from the suede sofa, walking towards one of the many windows as he spoke to the FBI agent on the phone. Mischelle was infuriated, her eyes darkening as she placed her empty wine glass on the coffee table, standing abruptly before stalking to the other side of the room, arms crossed and temperament boiling as her inflamed eyes stared out the other window. Hannibal hung up his mobile device after completing the interesting conversation with Agent Crawford, before turning back to the sofa, only to realize she was no longer seated.

"Mischelle?"

He noticed her standing with her back to him, the crème skin of her back contrasting against the onyx tone of her dress. She was angry, he could smell it.

"Mischelle, darling," he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to turn her to face him.

 _THWACK._

The palm of her hand collided with his cheek, startling him momentarily. Garnet and sapphire battled, the mutual hunger they shared setting fire in their bodies. Hannibal retaliated by bringing his hand across her face, the slap echoing through the room. Mischelle gasped, grasping her face as she felt the stinging pain, her eyes burning with anger. She turned to face him, bringing up a stiletto-clad foot and pushing it into his chest, kicking him backward. She watched as he stumbled back into the sofa, and it was then that she pounced, grabbing his wrists and pinning his arms over his head.

 _Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep._

Their gaze turned to the cell phone that had fallen onto the sofa cushion, Hannibal twisting one of his hands free in an attempt to reach for it, only to be thwarted by Mischelle bringing her stiletto down on his wrist, trapping it between the sole and spike of her shoe. He glared up at her before bringing his foot to her strong abdomen and pushing her away, changing the odds as he pinned her body beneath his. She turned her head away in rejection, but he fisted his hand into her elegantly styled chignon which had long fallen out of place, tugging at her hair and forcing her to look up at him. In a flash her mind raced, _So this is what it must feel like_ , she thought before all of her thoughts were washed away.

Hungry lips consumed one another in a passionate kiss, tasting wine on each other's tongues. Hannibal ground his hips into her own, feeling her moan vibrate against his mouth. Mischelle clawed at his back, as if she could rip through the expensive fabric of his shirt. She felt him hike up the hem of her dress, pulling at the lace of the vintage garter she wore, his mouth now assaulting her neck.

"Hannibal," she groaned, her body arching up into his as he bit hard at her skin, feeling the blood dribble down her neck.

He growled, sucking up the ruby red elixir that was escaping from the bite he had just made, his eyes rolling back into his head as if he were a great white shark, tasting his first meal of the night. His hands made quick work of the garter on her thigh, pulling both it and her stocking down to her ankle before roughly yanking off her stiletto and throwing all three items to the floor. He sat up between her legs, looking at the flushed expression on her face, her golden locks sprawled around her head, her neck bruised and blood drying where he'd bitten her. He sighed, licking his lips and tasting the metallic tang of blood as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before taking off her other shoe and stocking. He then proceeded to push her dress upward around her hips.

Mischelle sighed, but grew impatient, he was far too overdressed. Steadying her feet on his chest, she pushed him back again, giving her a moment to stand. She took this moment to straddle his waist, hooking her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling. Hard. Buttons of the expensive dress shirt flew across the room as she yanked the article from his body, her sharp nails clawing at his chest. Hannibal let out a pleasured sigh, feeling her cut into his skin. Mischelle watched the thin lines of blood appear on his sculpted form, and she kept her gaze trained on his own as she knelt between his legs, bringing her tongue to trace up each one, painfully slow.

"Mischa," he sighed, not even realizing he had used his sister's name as a shortened version of her own. His fingers twisted in her hair, bringing her mouth to crash against his as he lifted her into his lap.

His eyes sparkled with dark lust as he pulled her dress up and over her head, the lace of her bra brushing against his skin. She smelled of the ocean, salt water and sand, she also smelled of something darker, more entrancing. Mischelle wound her arms around his neck, kissing, sucking, and biting at every inch of skin she could reach, grinding her pelvic bone against his.

He groaned, "I won't take you here like some common prostitute," he stated firmly, gripping her hips to still her motions.

She looked at him with a mischievous grin, "Is that so Dr. Lecter? Very well, then I'll take you myself," and with that she brought her hands between them, unbuckling the gold belt buckle at his waist and pulling the leather belt out from his trousers.

Her nimble fingers made quick work of the button and fly of the hand-tailored pants, and as she pushed him to lean back against the sofa, she stood briefly, pulling them downward along with his briefs. She licked her lips as she saw his hardened erection, straight and stiff against his muscled abdomen. Her knees found the soft carpet in front of the sofa, and before he could retaliate, she had him in the wet warmth of her mouth. Hannibal let out an audible moan, his head falling back against the sofa, enjoying her dominance and rough ministrations. He bucked his hips, thrusting his cock into her mouth, hearing her gasp at the unexpected motion.

Mischelle closed her eyes, enjoying the musky taste of him. He tasted spicy, dangerous, and exciting. She felt him thrust his hips upward again, but she bit down on the head of his erection, causing him to scream.

She smiled as he pulled her off him, seeing the taunted fury in his eyes, "Something wrong?"

He smirked evilly, "You saucy minx, you want to play that way, eh? Fine." He pulled her to her feet by her throat, her eyes wide as her air supply was cut off from her. Hannibal threw her on the sofa, her back towards him, and he pinned her there.

Stroking his shaft he placed his other hand on her back to keep her in position. Mischelle gripped the back of the sofa with a sigh, looking over her shoulder to see the animalistic gleam in his eyes. She had no warning, and could only let out a strangled cry of pleasure as he shoved into her from behind, his hips slamming against her ass.

Staying buried within her tight sheath, he hooked one of his arms through hers at the elbows, pulling her flush back against his chest, his other hand roamed her firm, voluptuous chest, ripping the lace bra and throwing it to the floor. His fingers tweaked and pulled at her nipples, one than the other, and he listened with delight as she squealed and squirmed for him. He didn't move, merely rubbing his cock inside of her, before finally bringing his hand that had been occupied with her left breast up to her throat, squeezing gently.

He brought his mouth to her ear, "The louder you are, the harder I squeeze, understood?"

Mischelle accepted the challenge with a smile, throwing her head back on his shoulder and letting out an echoing moan. Hannibal chuckled at her, gripping her throat tightly as he began ramming in and out of her at an obscene pace. Her sight went white as he thrust in and out of her, pleasure coursing through her veins beyond measure. Her moans and cries, despite strangled due to his clutch on her throat, rang throughout his home.

"H-H-Hanniba-l! Han-Hanni-b-bal!" his name fell from her lips as her body quaked, his moans loud in her ear as his body bucked and slammed against her own, the slapping of skin mixed with the heady moans and screams from two was the greatest form of ecstasy he had ever experienced; well, almost.

"Mischa...oh God Mischa!" Hannibal groaned as felt her tighten around him, his body shaking violently as their orgasm vibrated through their bodies. Mischelle threw her head back with a violent cry of passion, his name ringing in his ears.

Sweaty and exhausted, Hannibal lay with the female doctor in his arms on the sofa, his fingers combing softly through her hair.

"So what did Jack want?" Mischelle inquired, her head resting on his chest, listening to his slow heartbeat.

Hannibal smirked, "He wanted to inform me that the identity of our last victim has been discovered. It seems she was a member of the University council. Her liver and cheeks had been removed."

Mischelle looked up at him, "Oh."

He chuckled, "I never did ask what you had made for dinner the other night."

"Shiitake brochette with confit liver and cognac demi glace," her eyes gleamed as she recalled the delectable meal she had prepared in his kitchen, "and she was far too opinionated to be on the council anyway."

Hannibal smiled and kissed her hair, loving that he had finally found someone who shared his discerning palette, as well as his passion for murder.

 **AN: Just to clarify, Mischelle's last name is Lithuanian for "luck" which I thought was quite interesting given her...interests. Please R and R and we'll see what becomes of these two! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So I have decided to make this a compilation of one-shots that kind of build their own story. Some chapters will be steamier than others, but they will still have the delectable allure of _Hannibal_. I do not own the rights to any characters aside from my own creations. Ratings and Reviews are much appreciated.**

A curtain of steam swirled around as warm water enveloped her, raining down upon her skin. The puddle at her feet ran in a gradient river of pink and red, spiraling down the drain as she ran her hands over her body. Her head tilted back releasing a sigh of enjoyment, lips parted, welcoming the relaxation of her shower. It always made her body tight with excitement; the thrill of the hunt. Her eyes would sparkle with a predatorial malice, a rush of adrenaline through her system. The feeling of the crimson liquid upon her skin as she killed. The taste of blood, metallic and satisfying on her tongue. However, it was these moments, in her warm shower, washing away the grime of her sport, that she felt the most accomplished. She succeeded once more.

She brought one of her hands to caress her nipples, pert and hard from the warm water, biting her lower lip to suppress a moan of delight. Her other hand traipsed down her body, finding the wet tuft of curls that covered her sex, before sliding two of her fingers inside. She moaned aloud, resting her back against the cold stone wall of her shower, her thighs shaking from lust. Her clit, swollen and sensitive, throbbed as she assaulted it with her thumb, eliciting cries of pleasure from her own lips as she fucked herself on her hand. A shattering orgasm brought on from her ministrations and excitement from her previous activity wracked her body from head to toe, and as she slid her fingers out of her dripping folds, she let herself collapse onto the floor, water still raining down upon her from the shower head.

All the while her audience stood just outside the door, listening to her passionate release. Hannibal's erection was hard and throbbing, wanting to be the cause of her screams. And with that desire he could wait no more, opening the shower door and stepping into the shower, letting the steam envelope him, disguising his presence. He looked down to see her sprawled at his feet, her eyes closed in relaxation and her body spent. Hannibal grinned, kneeling down between her legs to brush his fingers along the skin of her thigh. She moved, but not enough to signify she was alert. He became more bold, prying her legs apart and bringing his mouth down to breathe in her scent. Her juices glistening in the water of the shower. He hummed, her cunt was intoxicating, and he could not help himself but to lave his tongue from one end to the other, hearing her whimper. She was still sensitive from her prior orgasm, and he smiled with a sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

"My dear Mischelle, open your eyes," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, and she did as he commanded. Her cerulean eyes opened slowly, her body turning wantonly to welcome him closer.

"Hannibal," she sighed, his hands gripping her voluptuous hips, pulling her up onto his thighs.

He said nothing, merely staring down at her flushed features as he reached over her to turn the shower knob all the way right, the water turned scalding, and she cried out in both shock and pleasure. Lecter brought himself onto his knees, lifting her hips with him as he brought the dripping head of his cock to her drenched folds, plunging deep inside of her. Mischelle cried out, her back arching as her hair entangled itself in the drain of the shower, making her unable to move. Hannibal smirked, pounding his hips against hers, the sound of skin slapping against skin, slick from heat and water, filled his ears with the ring of her cries. He grunted in delight, feeling her toes curl against his lower back as his arms hooked under her knees, bringing his hands to squeeze her breasts as he fucked her mercilessly.

"Ha-Hannibal! Oh, God!" she screamed, the water burning her skin as he penetrated deep into her womb, each buck of his hips sending her eyes rolling into the back of her skull. His fingers tweaked her nipples, now burying himself inside of her to the hilt, and staying there for a moment, feeling her quiver around him, begging for orgasm.

"Look at me," was all he demanded, and she complied. She looked up into those dark eyes, so dead yet so full of life, and she moaned, pleading for both her release and his own. Hannibal helped her hair free of the drain, and brought his hand under her neck, pulling her torso up to be flush against his own, her legs now straight in the air in a 'V' between them, bringing him even deeper inside her if that were possible.

Mischelle felt the air in her lungs disappear at that moment, his hand still firm around the back of her neck as he stared deep into her soul. He then began to move, slow, but hard, and she could not contain the soundless cries of passion that slipped past her lips. Their skin now red as fire from the shower, Hannibal bucked his hips slowly, pulling out as far as he could, then slamming back into her. She was nothing but sensation in that moment, and he loved watching her face as she came hard in his arms, unable to make a sound from the intense pleasure he created inside of her. His orgasm followed swiftly, emptying himself deep inside of her, and then all was still.

Hannibal turned off the shower and merely held her in his arms, seeing her now completely limp from exhaustion and ecstasy.

Mischelle looked up at him with a sly smirk, "I was hoping you couldn't resist."

He chuckled lowly, "How could I? You smelled so delectable it would've been impossible. However I did not want to barge in on you until you finished, I quite enjoy dinner and a show."

She laughed then, bringing her lips to his own in a passionate kiss, tasting herself and the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, "Mmh, you enjoyed dinner then?" she inquired after they broke their kiss.

Hannibal nodded, "I believe I must let you cook every evening, especially if I get to enjoy you like this afterwards."

Mischelle grinned, "I think that can be arranged," she slid out of his arms and pushed him back against the wall, bringing herself low between his legs, "but now it's my turn to enjoy you."

Hannibal groaned, letting his head fall back against the stone as he felt her mouth sheath him completely. Yes, he thought, I could most certainly get used to this arrangement.

 **AN: I know this one is on the shorter side, but as I said there will be many more, some smutty like this, others more gory, others more "romantic". Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Surprise! Bet you weren't expecting me to turn this into an actual story huh? Well think again, I have decided that this, like all of my other stories, deserves attention. If any of you dear readers follow any of my other works, you will be pleased to know that I have decided to continue them all, one chapter at a time. So wait with bated breath, but rest assured each story on my list will be attended to. I do not own the rights to _Hannibal_ , I only own my dear Dr. Mischelle for now. Reviews are deeply appreciated!**

*Six Months Earlier*

She could smell it, perfuming the room with its intoxicating aroma. A languid smile creeping across her lips in the darkness as she listened to the whimpering source of her delight. She loved the smell of fear. The tear-stained face of the young girl sitting in the middle of the room looked around frantically, her restrained body trembling profusely.

"P-P-Please...don't-don't do this...you don't have to do this jus-just let me go...please..."

Her voice hitched and shuddered between her sobs of mercy, and it took all of the restraint in her body not to kill the mewling little slut right then and there. With no words she walked forward, slowly, as if needing to prove to the young woman in the chair that she was not one for mercy. Icy blue yes stared down at the horrified face of her captive; oh yes, how she loved the smell of fear.

"Don't do that," she finally spoke, the hint of her accent giving her intimidating voice a sophisticated tone, "it is completely unnecessary and highly inappropriate to beg for one's life when you should know by now...that you will not be spared."

She watched her words sink in, the young woman could not see her, but let out an involuntary howl of grief, thrashing wildly against the ropes that further cut into her wrists and ankles. It was almost too much on her senses, seeing the display before her, watching her prey slowly realize that this was the end. With no hurry in her movements, she walked over to a table of tools, the surgical steel glinting in the black. Running her fingers across the line-up, she settled finally upon her scalpel and forceps, picking up the two items in her hands.

 _Knock, knock, knock_

" _Doctor Laima?_ "

Her eyes flashed in annoyance, her time rudely disturbed. She sighed, replacing the implements upon the table, "Don't go anywhere," she state sarcastically, walking out of the room and into the faint light of her office. Her closet door clicked shut behind her, silencing the faint shrieks of the young girl. She gazed into the small mirror that hung on the wall behind her desk, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before straightening her blazer.

"Showtime," she smirked, giving her reflection a wink before striding confidently to her office door, coming face to face with two men as she opened it: one older, exuding experience and authority, the other was younger, scattered, and looking distracted.

"Doctor Mischelle Laima?" the older man inquired.

She nodded, "Yes, can I help you gentlemen?"

A badge was presented in front of her, "We are from the FBI, may we come in?"

Mischelle hesitated for a fleeting second before flashing her winning smile, "Of course, please make yourselves comfortable."

She turned, leading the men inside, her eyes glancing at the inconspicuous close behind her desk before taking a seat across from them, "So, how can I be of service to the Bureau?"

The younger man spoke, still not looking directly at her, she sensed distress from him, her curiosity peaking, "You specialize in criminal psychology, yes?"

Mischelle nodded, "Yes I do, double doctorate, and I currently teach here at the university."

"Good, then we could use your assistance on a case, if you would be so kind?" the older man continued.

"Forgive me, gentlemen, but you have yet to introduce yourselves properly, and I do not work with strangers," she leaned back, her eyes trained on the young man, watching him, examining his every move.

The older of the two chuckled, "So sorry, my name is Agent Jack Crawford, and this is Doctor Will Graham, he teaches at the FBI Academy."

She smiled sweetly, as if molten sugar ran through her veins, "So, this is the talented Dr. Graham? How fortunate I am to be able to meet someone with your...gifts," her eyes still attempted to meet his, and still he averted her.

"And by gifts you mean my inability to converge with reality?" he quipped, still examining the room.

Mischelle sighed, growing impatient with his distraction, "I mean your _ability_ to see the world as it truly is - Mr. Graham do you have an issue with looking me in the eye? Because right now in this exact conversation, you have looked at everything...but me."

At this, Will finally brought his careful gaze to hers, his eyes finding the quiet storm that lay there. Stormy blue with an icy streak of silver.

"There," she cooed, "much better," holding his gaze for a moment, looking right into his soul, she grinned before turning to Jack, "I will help you with anything you may require, gentlemen, however if you'll excuse me for now, I only have a few more minutes left on my lunch break before my students return, and I would like the time to myself if you don't mind."

Both men stood, each shaking her hand when Jack spoke, "If you could come by the Bureau tomorrow afternoon, we have some information we'd like you to look at."

Will still stared at her cautiously, his eyes now transfixed on the female before him. Mischelle met his gaze again, a soft, all-knowing grin on her lips, "I'd be delighted, anything I can do to help."

"We'll see you tomorrow then," Jack nodded, making for the door with Will in tow.

"Oh yes, you certainly shall," she chuckled, locking the door behind them before turning back to her closet. Looking down at her watch, her eyebrows raised in surprise, "that time already?" she sighed, making her way back to the closet and opening the door, entering the still dark room.

The young girl was still whimpering in the chair, and Mischelle let out a soft tut of her tongue, "Now," she sighed contently, walking over to her surgical tools once more and picking up the scalpel before walking over to her, placing the blade against the girl's neck, "where were we?"

In a single movement, she slid the blade across the young woman's neck, listening to her gurgled cries as she choked on her own blood. _Ah yes_ , Mischelle grinned, closing her eyes and relishing in the aroma of the metallic blood, she did love the smell of fear.


End file.
